


About That Night in Illinois...

by Heofaucandlir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel's Wings, Cute Ending, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, No Spoilers, One Shot, Romantic Gestures, Sex in the Impala, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heofaucandlir/pseuds/Heofaucandlir
Summary: A short-but-sweet one shot featuring Dean and Cas meeting up in a motel parking lot on a misty spring night. Dean has had a long day battling the Forces of Evil, but he and Cas figure out a way to make everything perfect for just one night.Or, Wings in the morning Demons warning, wings at night Winchester’s delight.





	About That Night in Illinois...

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this at 2 am after a Supernatural marathon (when else do I write fan fiction), and later polished it up for the general public because I liked its simplicity. There will eventually be some art to go along with this work, thanks to a good friend who's a lot better at drawing than me. I'll add the links here when those beauties are done.
> 
> This is my first time posting to AO3, so lots of constructive feedback is welcome. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Work formerly titled “Wings”

# About That Night in Illinois...

Sam’s phone buzzed twice on the table and fell silent. The taller of the Winchester brothers reached over his umpteenth cup of eye opener and gazed blearily at the tiny screen for a moment before cracking the phone open and scanning the email. He sighed and slapped the cell down on the table.  
“Dean, it’s two am. I’ve got nothin’. Are we done?”  
Dean grazed his own sore eyes with his fist, “You tell me.”  
He fingered the soft, slightly greasy page of the lore book he was reading and turned the page.  
“Great,” he grumbled to himself, “more Latin.”  
Sam looked up from his laptop, “What?”  
Dean scratched his ear and grimaced. “Nothing. Why can’t the really important stuff be in English?”  
Sam shook his head. “That would be easier, Dean. Nothing important is easy. That’s how you know it’s important.”  
Dean rolled onto his back and stretched. The waistband of his jeans was cutting into his side, and his shoulders were atrociously stiff. He groaned.  
“Didn’t Bobby say that first?”  
Sam jammed his thumb into a key on his laptop, closing whatever he’d been looking at. He pulled out the list of sites the public health officer had given them and started on the next one down.  
His vision were beginning to swim, so he shut the damnable book with conviction and pushed it to the side along with the rest.  
“What do you say we wrap this up? I’m gonna get a breath of fresh air.”  
Sam looked puzzled. He glanced out the window and back to his brother. It wasn’t really raining, but it was close.  
“Whatever,” he said, “I’ll be here.” 

It was a silent night. The latecomer fog soaked up all the noise of the big city, rendering the motel parking lot in soft gray tones, light and noise. It was mid-April in Jacksonvillle, IL and pleasantly cool. The leather of Dean’s old jacket rasped as he made his way across the parking lot to the Impala, parked between two of the monumental and somewhat sinister black walnut trees that lined the main drag. There was one working street lamp nearby, and it joined forces with an illuminated billboard to give the Impala’s sleek, black surface a multitude of red-orange spots. The combined effect hurt Dean’s head.  
He leaned on the passenger side door and stuffed his fingers in his pockets for warmth while he soaked in the mist and the smell of wet asphalt beneath his feet. The lights of the city blocked out the stars and gave the sky a low-ceilinged effect. A dusty, white Subaru Forester ran a red light and zoomed down the street. The driver was an erratic-looking white woman talking animatedly on her phone. Dean rubbed his closed eyes for a long time, really pressing into his eyeballs with his knuckles. It felt good even though it stung.  
There was a familiar whoosh to his left. He rubbed his eyes for a moment longer before peeling them open, feeling oddly jittery as well as bone-tired. Cas was standing on the grass between the two walnut trees with the street light soaking into his dark hair and throwing shadows over his pensive face and down the front of his coat. If Dean looked, and he always did, he could see the barely perceptible substance of the angel’s wings outlined in sparkling droplets as Cas walked towards him. As he passed onto the lit parking lot, the shadow of his wings followed him.  
Dean looked down as the angel approached, feeling less tired than he had a moment ago. Who knew why angels did anything, but he was glad this one was here.  
“Your wings are showing.” He smiled wanly. “Is that voluntary?”  
Cas stopped in front of Dean and looked across the parking lot, out into Jacksonville with that weird far-seeing look. Then he looked at Dean and his eyes crinkled. It was as close to a smile as he usually got when he was sober, which was pretty much always. The Winchester’s drinking budget didn’t factor in whatever made Cas so resistant to the charming effects of human liquor. That said, Dean had certainly tried. A certain Irish pub in Arkansas sprang to mind. He smiled just a little at the memory of Cas trying to explain the Commandments to some confused plumbers with uniformly grizzly beards. They’d all arrived in the same huge, forest green pick-up truck are ordered up a steady flow of potatoes and whiskey. Luckily they were all happy drunks.  
He looked back at Cas. The mingled light caught and was transformed in his soft blue eyes. They were like sapphires. The angel tilted his head to the side, “I do have some control over it, yes. But it happens more often when I’m relaxed or… happy. ”  
Dean nodded, “So are you showing off, or do rainy nights just make you all warm and glowy inside?” He prepared to stow away a possible answer for future use.  
But Cas didn’t say anything. Instead, he straightened and looked Dean full in his stubbled face. The wing-shaped presence spread from him until it was as long… longer than the Impala, accompanied by the faintest of rustling sounds. The upper leaves of one black walnut swayed as though they had been pushed aside. There was no wind. Cas’s face was stern and focused, his eyes dark and solid. Dean sucked in his breath.There was a word for this, a fierce and deadly name. It sprang to the front of his mind: _Castiel_. His stomach jumped into butterflies and he remembered all over again that Cas was a soldier. He ducked his head to hide the fact that he’d been impressed and whistled under his breath.  
“Showing off it is then.”  
Something smooth and hard buffeted his face playfully. The air suddenly smelled like dryer lint and the inside of Cas’s trench coat. Dean flapped his arm in front of his face, “Put those away before you hurt yourself.” Castiel vanished with a gentle clap and a final settling whisper in the air, leaving just Cas behind. Dean’s Cas.  
They stared at each other for a minute. “It’s a beautiful night.” Cas said, groping awkwardly for conversation.  
Dean looked askance at the angel. “A little damp, don’t you think?”  
Cas shrugged, “If it didn’t rain there wouldn’t be any plants, would there? Which for you means no grain, and no alcohol. The Ancient Egyptians would have loved this place.”  
“I forget this kind of thing doesn’t bother you,” Dean said, wiping some droplets off his coat.  
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Cas said, coming to lean beside Dean on the Impala’s sturdy black shoulder, “I would like to think it means you regard me as nearly a fellow human.”  
Dean grinned broadly, “Well, sans wings and not needing to eat or do whatever else, you pretty much are, Cas.”  
Cas caught Dean’s gaze. “That means a lot to me, Dean.” he said somberly, but he stood a little taller as he said it. “My brothers-”  
Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he rubbed his chin. “Don’t mention it.” He said, possibly more huskily than he intended. “You’re different.”  
They stood in silence for a while, watching the traffic light in front of the motel flash yellow, red, green, and listening to the sound of water rolling out of the gutters onto the dumpsters in the dim alley behind. Cas stared ahead, eternally patient, while Dean shifted his weight between his feet and scanned the dark motel windows to make sure no one was watching. When he was sure that Sam was either asleep or totally absorbed in research, he reached over and wrapped his arm around Cas’s lissome hip, pulling him in. Cas didn’t even look away from whatever eternity or nirvana he was considering and simply leaned into the taller man. Dean took a deep, shuddering breath in and kissed the top of Cas’s head, exhaling through his thick, damp hair.  
“I guess it’s not so bad,” he said, “the atmosphere’s downright poetic.” 

Early morning daylight streamed into the motel room through the wide open door. Sam didn’t bother to shut it as he rushed out into the parking lot.  
“Dean?! Dean!”  
The second bed was empty and the keys to the Impala were missing. Where would he have gone? The Impala was still parked where Dean had left it when they pulled in last night. He jogged over to the car, seeing a figure in the back and stopped dead a dozen paces away. Was that..? It was. What was he doing in the car? Did he know where Dean was? He strode quickly around the Impala, gleaming like ebony in the early morning sun, and froze facing the rear driver’s side window. Cas was sitting in the back of the Impala. His trademark overcoat was missing, and the black suit coat he wore under had been discarded on the dash. His shirt was unbuttoned, leaving him bare to the waist and perhaps below. Sam couldn’t tell what he was wearing besides that, if anything, because his brother was curled up in Cas’s lap, wrapped in that big beige coat. Sam gawked. Cas wasn’t even asleep, which Sam supposed made sense in hindsight. The cogitative expression he usually wore was gone and he looked calm, even serene. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed Sam, but he didn’t seem otherwise alarmed to see him. Looking down, he kissed Dean’s forehead softly, smoothing the sleeping man’s steamy hair out of the way. Dean stirred, shifted his feet and curled closer to Cas. The look of tenderness on Cas’s face, and the peace on Dean’s was actually beautiful, if definitely strange to see.  
Sam shook his head slowly and turned to go back inside. Really, Dean? In the car? He reached the scabby motel door and closed it behind him without daring to look back. He’d give them an hour or two. They both deserved it.


End file.
